


The End of Sherlock AKA Benedict Cumberbatch meets Sherlock and makes a poop joke.

by agnesanutter



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 18:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5880778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agnesanutter/pseuds/agnesanutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We begin with Benedict Cumberbatch sat on Mark Gatiss' couch. He is reading the Sherlock series finale script. But then somehow he finds himself in a world that is not his own.</p><p>***</p><p>I wrote this story over a few days for the Entertainment Weekly fanfic contest, but I went way over their required character count. I thought it was supposed to be 10,000 words, but turns out it was effin 10,000 characters. So I'm posting this here. This is actually meant to be my final fanfic in the Sherlock fandom (at least for the year of 2016). This is RPF, but no RPF ships occur in this fanfic. I also skip over a LOT because I was trying to keep the word count low so apologies for that. It makes sense that my final fic combines these things. I do so hope someone enjoys reading it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Benedict Cumberbatch takes a turn down an alley and picks up his speed. He knows he’s been spotted. As he exits the alley, he glances back to see the two bespoke-suited men enter.  Deciding there’s nothing left but to make a run for it, he pivots and heads towards Tower Bridge.  If it has to end anywhere surely that is the place for it. 

Soon enough he arrives at the center of the bridge and gives a silent thanks for his thin, wiry frame. It takes him seconds to maneuver between the security cables designed to keep people from doing exactly what he’s doing.  Ben looks down to the water then up and out at the London view. His London, his home. Except...

Fumbling in his pocket, he pulls out the cheap burner flip-phone. There’s but one number listed in the contacts, yet he ignores it. There are very few telephone numbers he remembers by heart, but this one lodged in his brain. It meant something. He types out a message, tries to be brief, but as he is Benedict, fails.  The phone’s buttons had been sticking since the bomb’s blast so he remembers to press firmly. Doing so causes the phone to fall from his hands and cascade quickly down into the water. He isn’t sure if the message went through, but there is no time left.

“Sherlock, dammit,” he says. Looking out he notices a large barge heading his way. He has to be quick to avoid it. Soon enough the dark hues of the sky begin to filter out the light of the day. It’s time.

Benedict Cumberbatch’s first foot followed quickly by his second leaves the bridge and he is falling to his death.

 

~~~Two days earlier~~~

 

“Did you finish it?” Mark Gatiss, Ben’s friend and the writer/co-creator of _Sherlock_ walks in from his kitchen.  Carrying two steaming mugs of tea, he smiles affectionately.  Ben smiles back. Mark is dressed almost like the great detective at home. He wears his pyjamas  beneath a heavy, blue dressing gown. Ben had woken him after arriving on his doorstep just thirty minutes earlier. This happened because Ben had woken up to see Mark’s late night text: “Finally finished the script. And it’s damn good if I say so myself.”

Ben inhales deeply as the smoky smell of the lapsang fills the air alongside the citrus of Mark’s citrusy earl grey. He turns back to the script in his hands.

“Mmm,” Ben says in response, and turns to the final page of the script. He is reading nearly every sentence twice as is his.  Even though he knows he’ll have to read it many more times to retain it. His memory never seems to function well on first readings of scripts. “Almost,” he adds almost absentmindedly.

Ben is dressed in a pair of jeans he knows he should throw away. He’s had them for years. The rips are not manufactured rather they’ve just happened from time to time. They’re definitely not his lucky jeans. He’ll correct you on that as he’s not superstitious.  But he just so happens to have been wearing them every time he read a Sherlock finale script.

He takes the script in one hand and folds it over to look at the last page. His other hand absentmindedly scratches at the jeans, and toys with a hole near the knee. He is re-reading the last scene. Sherlock and John have just walked away from a crime scene and they’re conversing as normal. The scene harkens back to the first episode’s end. But what happens next just shows how much the show has changed since the first series.

Sherlock Holmes was supposed to be another detective show. Bringing back the famous detective, but placing him a modern setting was supposed to be enough to get them on air. And it was. It got the show purchased and re-commissioned by the BBC for many years. But slowly the show changed from yet another mystery show into a show about the developing of a man’s heart. The ending, Ben understands, does justify having that heart stop.

“You must have finished it by now,” Mark blows out an exasperated breath. “Don’t keep me waiting. What do you think?”

“I think—I, I.”

“You’re stuttering. That’s either very good or very bad,” Mark says with a grin.

“No,” Ben says. “No, no. I mean--” As Ben tries to find the words the script falls from his hands. Suddenly he finds his throat is parched. The words are caught in his throat somehow.  As he tries to reach for the tea suddenly he finds not tea but air. His vision blurs. He gives a shake to his head.

“Not at all logical, but I suppose needs must. The Sultan on Omai is still looking for me. That’s barely a five but-”

“What do you mean?” Ben says. 

“It’s not set it stone,” Mark says. “If you don’t like it. I’m happy to take notes. Or rather I’m not happy to take notes, but I’m very good at pretending I’m happy to take notes.”

“No, I mean, about the five,” Ben says. His vision is still swimming and for a moment it seems like they’re on set. He doesn’t feel well at all.

“What?” Mark says.

“John?”

“Mark, what are you talking about? What’s going on?” There’s nothing that can be done. Ben lets himself be pulled down onto the sofa. He blinks as Mark speaks to him, but he can’t hear what he’s saying and then he’s out.

 

#

“Who is Mark?” An incredibly familiar voice asks him.

Ben scrubs a hand over his face and opens his eyes slowly. He can feel a firm couch cushion placed beneath his head.

He blinks slowly once, twice. He tries blinking another half dozen more times. When he finally opens his eyes fully, however, regardless of his sure-fire plan of blinking it all away, he is still seeing something utterly impossible.

The man peering over him wearing his face is none other than Sherlock Holmes. His version of Sherlock of Holmes.

“I dislike repeating myself,” Sherlock says. “But you appear to be experiencing shock so I fear I’ll have to give that rule a brief reprieve.”

“Thank you,” Ben says, not sure why. He sure he’s having a hallucination and he can’t remember the rules. Do you engage with your hallucination or simply ignore it until it goes away?

“Can I assume you once again do not remember our previous encounters, and are in need of explanation?”

“What?”

“I am Sherlock Holmes,” Sherlock says then steps away. He walks to his chair and sits.

“You are a hallucination,” Ben says while he turns to sit up. He swings his feet off the sofa and starts to take in slow breaths. He looks around at the 221B set. Except it’s not a set. Somehow he finds himself on his feet looking around. The books on the shelf, the Persian slipper, the bison head are all present. And outside the window is not a sound stage, but a street bustling with people walking up and down a real Baker street. He turns round to see the full scope of the room. Either he’s really there or really hallucinating.

“A hallucination is an experience involving the apparent perception of something that does not exist in your reality. I exist in this reality. In the past I’ve had to spend quite a lot of time explaining this to you.” Sherlock steeples his fingers and waits. He rolls his eyes as Ben starts to shake his head in obvious disagreement.

“No. I --what? You’ve what?”

“Explained,” Sherlock says. “Dear God. You have me explaining that I’ve explained. I always go into new depths of dull-wittedness when you’re around.”

“I must be dreaming,” Ben says.  “Why haven't I woke up? I would think this would be a perfect time to wake up. Or--.” Ben starts walking around the room. “Oh god, Oh god.  This all looks-- this looks really real. Am I in a coma? Or-or. Am I dead? F*ck.” Ben walks around picking things up, feeling their weight. “It’s all real, or it feels real and sh*t. That’s it, isn’t it?” He looks over to Sherlock. “I’m dead. Sh*t. I’m dead and this is--hell.” Ben begins taking large gulps of air. He can’t breathe. There isn’t enough air. Of course, Ben thinks, if I’m dead I don’t really need air and yet...F*CK.

Sherlock stands, walks next to him. “Stop it. You’re having a panic attack. Lie down before you do yourself an injury.”

“No,” Ben says, pushing Sherlock away. “Get away from me. Get away from me! I’m not dead. I’m no-” Ben looks towards the window. He decides he has to be dreaming or in a coma. He’s sure he read somewhere doing something dangerous in a dream will wake you up. He looks back on the tiny room and pushes past Sherlock. He decides to get a running start before he jumps out the window and hopefully to consciousness again.

Sherlock raises an eye at him and then a dawning expression comes over his face. He seems to realize what Ben is going to do just as Ben starts running forward.

“For God’s sake!” Sherlock steps in front of Ben just as Ben is about to take a leap for the window.  They both tumble down to the floor, Ben knocking the wind out of Sherlock as he lands on top of him.

Sherlock begins to speak hoarsely and out of breath. “Listen to me. This isn’t a dream, Benedict. And I can prove it.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

 

Ben finds himself sitting in Martin’s chair, no John Watson’s chair, Ben reminds himself.   John Watson, former army doctor and Sherlock’s flatmate sits here.  At least that’s what Sherlock said as he handed Ben a cup of freshly brewed tea. It’s the milky builders tea Ben likes to drink from time to time. It’s been quickly prepared, but the sweet, strong brew is everything he needs right now. Because when one finds himself in an alternate world inhabited by the character they play on television, you need a cuppa.

 

“You have questions,” Sherlock says. He is dressed almost identical to how Mark was earlier--pyjamas, blue dressing gown. The key difference being the man inhabiting them. Whereas Mark exudes warmth, Sherlock is currently radiating pure frustration. “You have questions,” Sherlock repeats himself stressing the final two syllables before sighing loudly.

Ben says nothing, just continues to stare ahead at Sherlock. He can’t stop staring, which strikes him as somehow vain. So he tries to avert his eyes for just a few seconds while he takes a drink of tea, but he just can’t. His eyes remain firm on the man as he lifts the cup again taking a long sip.

Sherlock remains silent momentarily as Ben looks on. After all that is his face on another man and withstanding a few wax models, this is an entirely new experience to him. Except not really.

“This isn’t the first time?” Ben asks. His voice is still shaky. He cannot fathom the idea this is actually happening and apparently has happened before.

“No,” Sherlock says. Though it’s a two letter word, he somehow says it in a way to make Ben feel idiotic. “And, as it was before, you’ll find this is all quite real. So perhaps refrain from jumping out windows.”

“Or off roofs for that matter,” Ben adds as he looks steady on at Sherlock.

“Quite.”

“If this has happened before then why don’t I remember it?”

“You asked that last time.”

“And why can’t I get any service on my phone?” Ben peers down at the object in his hand. Absentmindedly while Sherlock was making tea he’d taken it out of his pocket when he noticed no service bars.

“You also asked that.”

“And where is-“

Sherlock heaves a loud sigh of annoyance Ben can’t ignore. “Fine,” Ben says. “Okay. You said you could prove it?”

“Finally.” Sherlock says and stands.

Picking up the laptop from the partner’s desk, he looks back to Ben who takes the hint and stands to walk near Sherlock. Ben can’t help but note the scar that snakes around from Sherlock’s back to his shoulder. Ben doesn’t have this scar, nor does his version of Sherlock. So some things must be different.

Sherlock clicks until a video fills the laptop’s screen and Ben sees his face peering back. It’s him except the version of him in the video is wearing his chambray shirt over a white tee. He also has on the flat cap he lost when he last visited Australia, so he estimates this video has to be at least five years ago.

“I was here in 2012?”

“Mmm,” Sherlock says. “Watch the video,” Sherlock says and presses play.

“Ben.” The Benedict on the video begins speaking. “It’s Ben.” He smiles at the camera which causes Ben to grimace in response. He doesn’t like to watch himself in general and he hates his smile. “I know you hate watching yourself so I’ll try to keep this brief. First off this isn’t a Douglas Quaid situation.”

“I don’t understand that reference,” Sherlock says to Ben.

“Total recall,” Both Ben say at the same time.

The Ben in the video continues. “Probably not the best example, but I can’t think of another reference to a guy recording an explainer video for himself right now.”

The Ben watching the video has a quick think himself and can’t think of another example either. He knows there must be many.

Video Ben continues speaking. “Though I know there has to be many. Look this whole thing is real. It’s happened before. This is the second time. If you’re watching this video then you’ve somehow found yourself back in Sherlock’s world a third time. So I decided to record this for that eventuality.

First I know you’re thinking this could all be part of a grand hallucination. It’s not. I thought about how best to prove this to you. I thought maybe I could tell you how you really got that scar on your left knee.”

“Oh God,” Ben says. His hand instinctively reaches towards the laptop to stop the video playing. No one--real or hallucination--needs to know that story.

“But no one should ever know that story,” Video Ben says. “Especially the part about the three cans of--well just no one needs to ever know. 

So I had to really think. I took a lot of time.”

“You did,” Sherlock next to Ben and off-camera of the video says at the same time.

“Shut up,” Video Ben says.

Sherlock pauses the video. “It was exhausting to watch my face screwed up trying to figure out something that should have been relatively simple.”

“How is this simple?” Ben asks then holds up a hand. “Never mind. Let him-me-him speak.”

“Fine,” Sherlock says then presses play.

“So I figure it wouldn’t take just one thing but at least three things to convince you. I’m going to give you until the rest of this video to think of three objects. It can be anything in the world. Start thinking of the things, but also listen. We’ve done this twice and it seems we’ve figure out most of the rules.  One is that time back in your/our world or timeline moves a lot slower than this one. When you return to that world, well if--” At this the video version of Ben looks off to the side, presumably at that Sherlock.

Ben hears Sherlock’s voice on the video say. “When.”

“Okay when.” Video Ben continues. “So don’t worry you’re not putting anyone out. Only a second or two will have passed since you left. Next it’s true that this is my, well our, version of Sherlock. But he exists independent of the stories.”

“What does that mean?” Ben asks.

“That means,” Video Ben says. “Although Mark and Steven’s stories exist in our world, Sherlock also exists in this world or timeline.”

“But--,” Ben starts then stops with the realization that he’s talking to himself while listening to himself talk about himself and a character he plays.

“Here’s where it gets tricky.”

“Oh good,” Ben says.

“The thing is the stories that I act out have or do happen to Sherlock as well, but then he exists outside of them. That’s why you can’t remember reading this in scripts.” Again Video Ben looks off to Sherlock and then back to the camera. “Somehow we’re supposed to be here, but not interfere. At least not until the time is right.”

“When is that?”

“You’ll know. You’ll know when the time is right. I must have known before and I know this time too. I know what I have to do. The thing is this Sherlock needs you.”

“No, I don’t.” The Sherlock next to Ben and in the video simultaneously say this.

“Ignore him,” Video Ben says. “You’re supposed to be here, Ben. You were here before the pool, before the fall, and if you’re back then it means something important is about to happen. Help him. John isn’t here. He’s in another world, but not as John. It’s hard to explain. Something to do with the displacement of energy or something. He tried to explain it to me or rather he tried to have a friend explain it to me. ”

“Stephen Hawking,” Sherlock next to Ben says. “You’ve previously told me that he also exists in your world. In this one he and I play chess weekly.”

“But he ended up very frustrated and he tried to punch me,” Video Ben says.

“He’s also able-bodied in this reality and has a very short temper for stupidity,” Sherlock says.

“I see why you get along,” Ben says.

“So by now you should have thought of the three things. So go pick up any book you want from Sherlock’s shelf.”

“Oh, right,” Ben says. Truth be told he had completely forgotten to think of the three things so he quickly decides then walks to the shelf. He takes down a random book.

“So now you’ve got a book. Turn to page 394,” Video Ben instructs himself.

“I don’t know what your goal is with this,” Sherlock off-screen on the video says.

“Indeed,” Sherlock who is staring at Ben flip through pages says.

“Oh God stop agreeing with yourself,” Ben says. “It’s a whole other level of weird. Besides I assume he or I would end up picking the same book and I would have written the thing in the book. It’s smart.”

“Nope,” Sherlock says popping the ‘p’ with an added roll of his eyes.

Ben continues flipping until he gets to the page, but there’s nothing to be seen.  Over his shoulder the version of him in the video begins speaking.

“By now you should have seen there is nothing written. If this were a hallucination I’d have the same knowledge as you and could write the exact thing you were thinking in the book. But you’ve lived longer than me. Who knows what you’re thinking. I figured the best way to prove it to you, me was to not prove it to you by thinking of a test that only I would think of.”

“That makes sense,” Ben says.

“What?” Sherlock exclaims. He stands and throws his hands in the air. “No, it doesn’t. It, in fact, makes no sense at all.”

“Exactly,” Ben says. He looks over to the video version of him who is now arguing with his version of Sherlock about the same thing. “And you’ve had this argument before it seems so perhaps let it go. It makes sense to me. I believe you. Isn’t that the point?”  


“No, well yes, but,” Sherlock sputters out. Ben wonders if he looks this wild-eyed when he’s debating something he finds perplexing. “Regardless.”

“Hopefully by now,” Video Ben says. “Sherlock isn’t still ranting about this not making sense. It makes sense to us. So my last piece of advice is this. Sherlock doesn’t need to know this so I’ll say this as coded as I can. Though he may figure it out.  Ben, remember Chris. If you do that you’ll be okay.”

“How could he, I know about…”

“Who is Chris?” Sherlock asks. Apparently he hadn’t figured it out.

Ben simply shakes his head in response. He doesn’t know how a version of himself from over five years ago could possibly know about someone who didn’t exist until two years ago.

“So,” Sherlock says.  “You’re here to help me solve the cause, though I’m sure we both can agree that I am in no need of assistance.”

“How in the hell can I help you solve anything? I’m an actor.”

“I know,” Sherlock says. “But in the past you have proven your worth.”

“How?”

Biting his lip, Sherlock squints then lifts his eyebrows, blows out a breath. “I can’t quite recall.”

“You’re Sherlock Holmes,” Ben says. “You remember everything. Unless--Did you delete part of me?”

“There’s only so much room in the hard drive.”

“But-”

“The point is I retained enough. In comparison to you that’s quite a lot. So eventually you’ll prove your worth once more. Though this is a relatively simple mystery.”

Ben shakes his head. “No, If it was a relatively simple mystery you would have figured it out already,” he says.

Sherlock’s response is a raised eyebrow and purse of his lips. He closes out the video and brings up the BBC News website then turns the laptop towards Ben.

_CROWN JEWEL HEIST. WILL THE QUEEN EVER WEAR HER CROWN AGAIN?_

_The Crown Jewels, which are part of the Royal Collection, are displayed to millions of visitors every year, Although many attempts had been made to steal the Crown Jewels from the Tower, notably by Thomas Blood in 1671 and James Moriarty in 2011, none had succeeded until recently. The jewels were found to be missing three days ago, yet no notable leads have been reported thus leaving a mourning country to wonder if England will ever be the same again?_

 

“THIS!” Ben exclaims. “This is your relatively simple mystery?”

“Yes, and I’m sure I’ll recover them soon enough then you’ll be on your way.”

“Oh, God,” Ben says. “I can’t go back until I help you solve this right?”

Sherlock nods his head once. “That is how it’s worked in the past, yes.”

“How close are you to finding out who did it?”

“Oh I know who did it.”

“What? Then?”

“Then?” Sherlock asks.

“Why all this?” Ben says waving his hands at the room, at 221B, at the situation they’re in.

Sherlock ignores his question. “The larcener is Colonel Sebastian Moran.”

“But he’s a hired gun, not a jewel thief.”

“And yet he got in touch, sent me proof he has the jewels and is awaiting my answer.”

“Answer to what?”

“He wants me to go to a warehouse to retrieve them within 24 hours.”

“But,” Ben says. “It’s a trap.”

“Yes, I know it’s a trap,” Sherlock says. He huffs out a breath. “Of course it’s a trap. I am a genius and even if I weren’t I think it’s fairly obvious what his intentions are.”

“So, what do you do?”

“Not go.”

“But, Sh*t.” Ben tips back. His head all of a sudden is throbbing. “Wait. I’m remembering something from the script.”

“Finally.”

“Finally? You knew this was going to happen?”

“Mm. It’s happened before. It takes longer each time. Performance issues,” Sherlock says pointedly. “Go on.”

“You’ll have to go,” Ben says. “I can’t remember much. I just read it today but what was it? Oh God. You’ll have to go. He has Lestrade.”

“What?”

“And,” Ben sighs. He doesn’t want to tell Sherlock, but he has to say it. “Mrs. Hudson.”

Sherlock stands, he bellows out for Mrs. Hudson. Only an eerie silence answers.

“You could have mentioned this earlier. I could have been working on that plan, instead of wasting the last few minutes planning how to secure the warehouse without his knowledge.”

“But you’ve not been planning anything. You’ve been talking to me for the past few minutes.”

“I’ve been holding a conversation with an actor for the past few minutes. Doesn’t really take full brain power. Oh don’t look like that,” Sherlock stops. He smiles. “I’m well versed in how to speak to such a talented actor such as yourself.”

“Thank you,” Ben automatically says. He relaxes. “Hey!”

“See,” Sherlock says then stands. “So I’ll have to nix that plan. This changes things a bit.”

“Wait. You said twenty four hours. How much time do you have left?”

“Two hours,” Sherlock says. He turns back to his laptop.

“Two hours?”

“Yes, and every moment I waste explaining things to you is stopping me from saving my friends. So if you don’t mind I’d like to--” Sherlock stops talking, stands. He walks in front of Ben and looks at him from tip to toe. For the first time, Ben feels like Sherlock is realizing that Ben is actually there. “We look startlingly similar,” Sherlock says. “The same height , physique. Well you’ve put on more weight. Possibly for another role. Possibly the typical post-marriage obesity descent.  But the same build remains.” Sherlock moves closer peers into Ben’s eyes.

“The same eyes,” Ben says while looking back.

“That’s it,” Sherlock says. He takes a seat. Picks up his laptop and begins typing away.

“Do you have a plan?” Ben asks.

“I have an idea, well three,” Sherlock says.

“Are you going to tell me?”

Sherlock ignores him, and picks up his phone. He begins typing speedily. A moment later his phone chimes and he smiles.  “Ben?”

“Yes?”

“It’s time for your close-up, Mr. Cumberbatch.”

 

 


	3. THE ONE WHERE I FINALLY GOT TO PUT ARWEL WYN JONES IN A FIC.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ARWEL WYN JONES. FINALLY. I've been wanting to add him to a fic for YEARS. I finally did it.....kinda'

“I’ve been assured he’s at a second location. He created this scenario to separate me and John. He assumed I’d send John to the first. If I show he’ll assume John is at the other and that is where the danger lies. Does that make sense?”

“Not in the slightest,” Ben says. He peers out the window as they ride along in the back of the black sedan. The partition is raised, but Ben can’t help but wonder if the driver is listening. If he understood even half of what Sherlock was saying then he’s in a better position than Ben.

“Take this,” Sherlock says. He hands Ben an obvious burner phone. It’s an old flip phone, the style of which Ben hasn’t seen since in years. “Once you’re at the entrance, just press send on the drafted text to me. It’ll give me an idea of how much time we have left.”

“Okay,” Ben says. “Then what?”

“Go inside the building as discussed.  It will be over soon after. You’ll have played your part and you can go back to making your Sherlock Holmes films.”

“Okay,” Ben says. “And you mean my Sherlock Holmes television show.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“Just. Television. I’d always assumed my adventures would be on a grander scale. Film at least. Stage at worst.”

“Oh shut up.”

“You’re right. Trifling matter.”

“Besides there are plenty Sherlock Holmes in film.”

“Ahhhh!” Sherlock perks up.

Benedict can’t help but bristle at this. “I’ve enough comparisons without the actual character coming to life and telling me --”

But Sherlock’s phone starts to ring, he holds up a hand to silence Ben who turns away and looks out the window.

Ben can only hear one side of the conversation, but he is almost sure Mycroft is on the other line. Part of him is curious to talk to the actual Mycroft, but he can’t imagine how odd it would be to talk to someone who is truly that powerful.  Even though Sherlock is sat next to him he can only hear snatches of the conversation. “A decoy.” “One bullet shouldn’t be a problem.” “It would be an acceptable loss to this world at any rate.”

When Ben starts to feel nerves that far outmatch the pounding of his heart he decides it’s time to try to ignore the call. He focuses on the passing landscape of London. Sherlock finishes his call just as Ben looks up to see a sign say, “Crossness Sewage Treatment Plant 12 kilometers ahead.”

“Figures,” he says. Sherlock looks up towards the sign. Ben continues. “This situation smells like it.” Sherlock raises his eyebrow to his statement. Ben waves a hand. “Never mind. It’s a joke.  You wouldn’t get it.”

“It’s a poop joke,” Sherlock says. “I understand feces related humor”

And in the middle of everything, Ben finds that to the most ridiculous thing that has happened. He starts laughing and can’t stop.  Tears are pouring out his eyes as he giggles on.

Soon enough they stop in front of the warehouse and now is the time. Ben looks at Sherlock and himself. Dressed alike except.

“What about my hair?”

“Put this on,” Sherlock reaches in his pocket and hands a bag to Ben. Ben knows exactly what it is before he peers inside the bag.

Ben slowly unfurls the bag, takes out the deerstalker, and places it on his head.

“Yes,” Sherlock says. “That should do.”

“How do I look?” Ben asks.

“Like me,” Sherlock says then exits the car. Ben sees him walk to a motorcycle and hop on. He expertly slips the helmet on and tightens the latch. The engine purrs to life and then Sherlock is gone, coat tails flapping in the wind.

Ben exits the car next while slipping into the extra coat Sherlock gave him. He takes slow steps forward and tries to steady his breath. He takes in his surroundings. The path to the door of the warehouse is cobbled and overgrown with weeds. No car would drive to this area and Ben assumes it’s why Moran chose it. He reaches for the door and enters.

He was expecting to see an empty warehouse but instead he finds a woman in the middle of the room. She is standing near an arc shaped blackjack table. One chair is waiting for him to sit.

There is fear in her eyes and tears are streaming down her face.  Ben is aware he is playing the part of Sherlock now. He can’t show the emotion he’d normally have, but mentally he wants to comfort her. Mentally he wishes he were telling her it’ll be okay right now. After all her character lives at the end of the script. Doesn’t she? He can’t recall because this part right now was meant to be played by Martin/John. It was John who was supposed to gamble while Sherlock freed their friends. But things are obviously changing since Ben is in John’s place.

“Mr. Holmes, how nice of you to join us.” She is speaking to Ben, but Ben immediately understands it’s only her voice. The words are someone else’s.

Ben doesn’t have the lines for this situation, but he changes his thought process. He cannot be Benedict. He is Sherlock. Action.

“It was an invitation I couldn’t ignore,” Ben says except his cadence is changed. He holds his head higher, flips up the collar of the coat. “What is this?” Ben waves a hand to the woman, table, and one chair in front of him.

“I think you know.”

“What’s the game?”

“Have a seat,” the woman who is dressed in a standard casino dealer uniform says. She waves a shaking hand.

Ben walks over and places himself on the plush cushiony chair.

“The game,” she says. “Is blackjack. Best of three. I’ll wager the crown jewels.”

“Then you’ll allow Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson freedom?”

“So you know,” she says. “Good. I’ll also free the rest.”

“The rest?” Ben asks.

Just then the lights dim. On the wall behind her an image is projected and speakers buzz to life. “We are one kilometer away.” The voice of a man fills the room via loud speakers. The voice is familiar, American, but Ben can’t quite place it. It immediately grates though.

“And?” Ben asks keeping up his air of Sherlock.

The camera begins to pan just as the phone Sherlock gave him pings.

DELAYED. STALL.-SH , it says.

“And,” The man’s voice responds. “I am Colonel Sebastian Moran. I can make a kill shot from 2.5 Kilometers away.  And just a few feet in front of me are your only friends. Would you like to see?” Slowly the camera moves to Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade both sitting in chairs. They are both gagged with their hands restrained behind their backs. “And I do mean all your friends.” The camera continues to move and it shows Louise Brealey, except it’s not Louise, it’s Molly Hooper. Next to her is Angelo, Mary Morstan, Bill Wiggins, Anderson, Sally Donovan, and Stephen Hawking. “And of course your family too. Your mother, father, Mycroft, and Sherrinford.” Ben’s eyes fall on Sherlock’s mom and dad, except, of course, they look just like his mother and father as Sherlock’s parents are acted by his own parents. Next to him is Mycroft who looks just like Mark Gatiss, but next to him, the man he referred to as Sherrinford is obviously the counterpart to Tom Hiddleston.  They’d discussed the possibility of a third brother or sister, but never settled on the idea so the “other one” was never introduced. Sherrinford’s face is filled with the same Holmes brother’s haughtiness.

“Now that you know there is no one coming to help. So let’s play.”

Ben’s phone vibrates. He’d sat it on the table face up. He glances over to see the message.

“Ten minutes needed-SH.”

Ben isn’t sure any game of blackjack lasts longer than one. He’d played it only once before when he lost a hundred quid in a matter of seconds.  He tries to think of way to stall, but with nothing in his arsenal he resorts to the idea that every villain has to be a Bond villain just waiting to talk.

“So what is your plan then? We play, I win, and then what? What assurances do I have that you’ll let them go?”

“You don’t,” Seemingly Moran says. His voice is definitely American. Which is odd. Ben is sure no version of Sherlock Holmes has ever had an American Moran. “But you’ve no other choice but to play.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then a bomb goes off killing everyone you’ve ever known except your blogger. And I promise you, Mr. Holmes, I’ll find him soon enough after. Now play.”

Before Ben can think of another question, the woman starts shuffling cards. It seems as if their sound is the only one that fills the room. It’s only slightly matched by the sound of Ben’s heart pounding in his ears.

The dealer slides two cads to in front of Ben, two in front of her. She turns over one card for her. Two for Ben.  Hers shows a king. Ben shows a jack and a queen.  He needs to make the game last longer so he makes no motion to stay or hit.

“Do you stay?” she asks, her voice shaky

“I’m thinking.”

The American Moran’s voice returns. “There’s nothing to think about, Holmes. You’re stalling. Maybe thinking Watson will come to save the day.”

“No, not him,” Ben says hoping his tone will intrigue Moran to talk more. It does.

“Who then? Everyone you know is here, Sherlock.”

“I stay,” Ben says.

The dealer flips over her card.  She has a three so she takes another. Another three shows so she takes another. It’s an eight.

“Player wins,” she says. Her voice cracks. She looks at Ben and mouths silently. “Help me.”

“What is the point of this?” Ben says trying to keep up his Sherlock composure. His phone pings again, but he isn’t sure if the man is watching him so he doesn’t chance a look.

“Oh Just passing the time and proving a point, Sherlock.”

“And what’s that?”

“That when you kill off Jim Moriarty, things don’t get easier.”

“No,” Ben says. “They really don’t.”

The dealer begins to deal again. This time Benedict starts off with two aces. He knows there’s a rule here, he should do something different with the cards. But he can’t remember so he simply hits, the dealer has a queen then turns over revealing an ace.

“Dealer wins.”

“Oh God,” Ben says while dropping his Sherlock voice. “I remember what happens next.

A bomb explodes in the corner just as Ben jumps up over the table to shield the woman from the flying debris. Ben tries to move, but he is coughing as his lungs fill with smoke. He tries to see if the woman is okay but he can’t breathe. He struggles to get up, but then another bomb rocks the place and he falls back again. He hears a terrible ringing in his ears just before he blacks out.

#

When he wakes up Ben is looking at his mother. She is smiling and patting his head. He looks around to see the layout of a plush hotel room. He recognizes it as the Tower Bridge Hilton. He groans a bit. He aches a bit from the earlier fall.

His mom continues smiling, but then he notices what she’s wearing and he knows it’s not his mother. “Oh sweetie.” She pats his head with a cool, damp flannel. “This barely makes any sense, Sherlock,” she says. ”You too.”

“I’m not,” Ben says while trying to sit up. “I’m not Sherlock.” He finally sits up, stretches.  The woman sits next to him on the sofa.

“Oh I know I was just talking to him,” The woman, Sherlock’s mother, smiles and turns her head to show she’s wearing an ear piece. “He left you in my care. He said he had something to take care of and he’s already given you instructions for once you’re up and about. He said sundown is the time and--” She turns her wrist over to look at her watch. “Almost time.”

“Now?”

“Yes,” she says. “Go home, Ben. I’m sure you’re missed.”

“But is everything okay? I think I should talk to Sherlock. I need to tell him about-”

“He knows,” she says.

“Does he?”

“Well he said you were going to profusely thank him for existing and changing your life. Something about you needing to get it off your chest because you were a very boring actor who never would have done anything in his life if it hadn’t been for him. Which is kind of you to say, dear, but I’m sure you would have gotten something.” Mrs. Holmes reaches out and pats Ben’s arms gently. “After all you’re a very handsome man.”

“Ahh,” Ben says. “I, um, actually wasn’t going to say that at all.”

“Oh.”

“I was-never mind. Is everyone okay?”

“Oh yes,” She smiles then recounts how Sherlock freed everyone and caught the man who was holding them hostage. “Awful looking man. His hair looked like an escaped caterpillar. He won’t be missed by anyone I’m sure.”

Ben starts to think of who that could be back in his world. Finally it dawns on him. An awful American with caterpillar hair. He can’t help but laugh. If similar happened to the counterpart in his world then that version won’t be missed either.

“Now.” Mrs. Holmes hands him a letter. “He wanted you to have this.”

The letter reads:

Benedict,

As discussed earlier you’ll need to jump off a rather larger building in order to wake up. This is how it was resolved each time. The last time you made me swear I’d give you enough time to get to the place in question so I’m leaving you in my mother’s care.

I am wrapping things up with Moran and ensuring he had no accomplices to continue his and Moriarty’s work. Should you return again I will be more than happy to explain further.

Though you should have more than enough time to reach your chosen building.  Might I suggest The Shard?

Finally I would encourage you to keep your face hidden while on the streets of London as the Sultan of Omai has placed a small bounty on my head. Again I’ll explain that should you return. Though you won’t remember so I won’t actually. I thank you for your help and wish you the best of luck in … television.

SH

#

Ben had tried to stay out of sight, but of course he was recognized. He’s not known what it’s like to have a hit out on you, but he knows what it’s like to try to blend when people know your face. So he has to run for it. As he’s running his head begins to ache and he remembers.

“Oh God,” Ben says. He remembers how the script ended. He has to warn Sherlock, but there’s no time. He shoots off the text and a few moments later he jumps.

Then he’s back he sitting on Mark’s couch.

“Please don’t say you nearly dozed off there,” Mark says. “Good God man. Was it that boring?”

“I-I’m sorry.  I lost my train of thought,” Ben says.

“Well,” Mark smiles. “Were one of the thoughts about the script? Like I said, definitely not set in stone.”  Benedict looks down the script in hand and reads.

 

#

Ext. crime scene-Marylebone Road

John and Sherlock are looking back at the crime scene. It's finally over. John begins to speak, picking up an earlier conversation they were having. John turns to Sherlock, gives a tight smile. Sherlock returns it.

JOHN

So it's settled then.

 

SHERLOCK

Quite.

 

JOHN

Neither of us are going anywhere.

 

Sherlock says nothing, gives John a questioning look. John answers by taking Sherlock's hand in his.

 

JOHN

Fine?

 

Sherlock looks down at their clasped hands for a long moment then back up at John.

 

SHERLOCK

Yes.

(beat)

It's all...fine.

And if it ends anywhere, it ends here-the two best friends ever who fell in love despite death, an assassin ex-wife, and a world of difference.

 

John Watson and Sherlock Holmes--partners for life.

They begin to walk together hand in hand. It's a tenuous gasp until we see a crane shot showing us where they are headed--Baker Street. Home. Their hands grasp each other's a little tighter.

The song "Ooh Child" cover by Nina Simone begins to play.

_Ooh-oo child._

_Things are gonna get easier._

_Ooh-oo child._

_Things'll get brighter._

_Ooh-oo child._

_Things are gonna get easier._

_Ooh-oo child._

_Things'll get brighter_

_Some day._

_We'll get it together and we'll get it all done_

 

Fade to black.

Then off camera a gunshot rings out.

SHERLOCK (off-Camera)

John?! John! JOHN!

 

#

For the third time in John Watson’s life he’s almost sure his brain floated off to an entirely different world. For some reason the image of a sperm whale falling is burned into his brain. He finds himself sat in his chair at home.  He’s not quite sure where Sherlock has gone. His phone chimes, and he looks down to see a text from an unknown number.

 

“John, my name is Benedict and I don’t have much time to explain but I know you very well. I know you and Sherlock very well. So much that I know the conversation you’ve been wanting to have with him. Now I know this may sound odd and it may fall on deaf ears. Considering the whole alternate world thing who even knows if you will receive this. What I do know is that I cannot leave without trying to warn you because Sherlock Holmes is a better man with you in his life and the world is better because Sherlock is in it. So please take this warning and before you leave the house today please put on a bulletproof vest. In my world Arwel keeps two just behind the sofa in 221b. I assume you have yours there as well. Use it. Please.”

 

#

Ben looks down at the script. His reads Sherlock scream for John. He reads the end.  But then he blinks and somehow new words appear on the page. Ben begins reading.

 #

SHERLOCK (off-Camera)

John?! John! JOHN!

 

Fade in:

Sherlock is holding onto John who has fallen after being shot. Sherlock is trying to find the wound.

 

Sherlock

Where are you hit? Where are you hit, John?

 

John

Oooo God. That f*ckin smarts.

 

Sherlock

Are you okay? John?

 

John

I’m fine. Or well not fine, but I’m not hit.

 

John pulls up his shirt to reveal a bulletproof vest

 

John

Got a weird message saying to put one on. Figured this person knew where we kept our vests so might as well use one.  Glad I did.

 

Sherlock remains quiet. His face is still full of fear.

 

 

John

I’m fine, Sherlock. Are YOU okay?

 

Sherlock

Yes. I will be once I find the man who tried to take you away from me.

 

John smiles. He kisses Sherlock quickly. John stands. He holds out a hand.

 

John

Then let’s go take care of that. Do you know where he went?

 

Sherlock (looking up and away)

I know where he’ll go. Shall we?

 

John doesn’t answer. He just smiles at Sherlock who smiles back. They both run towards the camera.

 

Fade to black

 

#

Mark smiles as Ben finishes reading then looks up.  “So what do you think? I know it’s not what we discussed but-”

 

“No," Ben says. "But it’s perfect because...I’m not ready to walk away just yet.” Ben had thought he was, but not anymore. He knows it’s not time to leave Sherlock behind.

 

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Mark says. “Because now is when the fun begins. Here’s what we have planned for season 6.”

 

 

THE..... END.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That guy....that guy was Donald Trump.  
> And yes that was a HHGTTG reference. PLEASE SOMEONE COMMENT AND TELL ME THEY GOT THAT REFERENCE. OKAY? PLEASE SAY SOMEONE GOT IT. IT wasn't subtle, but I really wanted someone to get it. Okay?  
> ANyhooo thanks Sherlock fandom. It's been......real.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Sherlock fandom.


End file.
